


The Parnassian crossbreed

by XY_DB



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Alternate Universe - Temeraire Fusion, Archie Kennedy (epistolary but alive), Dragon OCs - Freeform, Gen, Mostly Gen, Sankey, William Laurence (mentioned), canon timeline obscure, dragon hatching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:20:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25877311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XY_DB/pseuds/XY_DB
Summary: Temeraire!AU/fusion. Admiral Horatio Hornblower gives Lieutenant William Bush his promotion to Captain.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	The Parnassian crossbreed

Lieutenant William Bush’s step comes concurrently with Hypatia being named Flag Dragon and Captain Horatio Hornblower hoisting his flag in the Gibraltar Squadron. It is possibly Hornblower’s very first act as an admiral.

In the frantic months on the Gibraltar station leading up to that moment, Bush hadn’t had any time to study the Gazette, nor track the breeding programme. He couldn’t have answered as to what lay beneath the warm stones of the Highlands covert, or how close his suit might have lain in seniority, Hornblower’s patronage or otherwise. He doesn’t think anything of Hypatia being given a month’s assignment at Loch Laggan for training, a necessary reshuffle of her formation to cover recent changes in the Corps’ fighting body. 

Thunderous surprise strikes him into profound wordlessness when Hornblower takes him aside, a rare, wide smile on his habitually serious features, and presents him with orders promising him to the Parnassian crossbeed egg. Hornblower had taken pains to give him these documents out of Hypatia’s sight and vast earshot; her whole crew and most of the Gib covert remembered her near-tantrum at having Lieutenant Kennedy removed from her ranks to serve on Debellatoria, a Regal Copper bound for the Orient.

Thus begins a liminal stage of Bush’s career, serving conscientiously as Hornblower’s first aboard Hypatia, while feeling drawn to the soft-shelled cream-and-black egg that lay in the covert baths’ adjacent hatchery. To both Hypatia and her Admiral’s perennial consternation, Bush has never developed the same reverence for mathematics they share. In spite of this, he finds himself remarking, upon first laying eyes on his assigned egg, that nature and geometry had never before seen such a divinely pure shape.

The observation is only voiced to himself, and Bush sharply suppresses other impulses to behave like a mooning, heartsick captain-in-waiting. The Parnassian crossbreed is likely to be a heavy-weight requiring a commensurate complement; in keeping with superstition he doesn’t write a jot of ink to paper about potential crew, and keeps as polite a distance as he can manage from those toadying up to him on the subject. He concentrates on being Hypatia’s first lieutenant, every duty and task taking on an extra meaning, in unsaid, respectful anticipation of the conclusion of his service with her, time which has spanned the full length of the dragon’s life so far. 

Hypatia, learning of the upcoming theft of the only first lieutenant she has ever known, exercises some of the more eccentric behaviour afforded her as newly minted Flag Dragon. She demands an audience with the egg, which neither Hornblower nor Bush are permitted to attend. Hornblower denies it on the grounds that service regulations prevent frivolous interference in the pairings of dragons and captains. 

Hypatia’s flouting of this denial meant the audience was carried out in a not terribly dignified fashion, squashing her golden head uncomfortably to get close to the small barred windows set into the very top of the underground baths, mostly for ventilation rather than observation or communication. 

Bush is with Hornblower when he spots this, and knows that the discomfited expression on Hornblower’s face is down to choosing between disciplining Hypatia for bringing low their lofty station, and not making a public spectacle. In the end, Hornblower frowns deeply and murmurs a curse with Hypatia’s name attached. But, he doesn’t interrupt, and draws Bush’s attention back to the new flight patterns he is devising, as ever with just a few too many references to trigonometry to be instantaneously digestible. 

When the egg starts showing the signs, if Bush has occasion to linger in the milky warmth of the baths longer than was his previous wont, most pretend not to notice. Gerard, himself anticipating his step to Hypatia’s first, does occasion a cuff about the head for a few teasing words about this hitherto unwitnessed penchant for excessive cleanliness.

When his energies run short of petty subterfuge and his fingers wrinkled with water, Bush does allow himself the indulgence of simply sitting with the egg in contemplation. It was, after all, why the eggs were placed here, next to the bathing pools, for the heat, and convenient observation. With professional interest he’d tracked the progress of the hardening as best he could, for the first time regretting the toughening of his hands from work, wanting to feel every tiny nuance of the warm surface as it progressed towards its final minutes whole.

The egg is heavy-weight in size, and looks much like the average Parnassian egg in _Norie’s Book of Britannic Dragon Breeds_ ; off-white with black patches and speckles, not unlike a cow. He acquaints himself with the egg’s markings over the course of several evenings, creating a rough-hewn sketch to accompany a letter to Lieutenant Kennedy.

( _“Glorianus’ get,_ ” Archie’s reply from Peking arrived months later, referring to the colossal Parnassian listed as the egg’s sire, the warbeast the three of them had served on together under Old Sawyer. “ _And Captain Granby’s prodigious terror on the other side. I wish you good luck, dear William, although you always did prefer your creatures saucy.”_ )

Despite mostly observing the egg merely by candlelight, Bush has fancies that, holding a lamp close to the surface, red highlights can be seen within the patterns on the surface. Hornblower had dismissed this observation, shared privately, as whimsical; the venerated Kazilik in the egg’s lineage was no guarantee of anything, fire-breathing having proved wickedly difficult to carry through bloodlines. 

When the night comes for this period to end, it is Admiral Hornblower himself who rouses him. “Hypatia,” he tells Bush, smiling wryly despite the late hour, “is in a dramatic sulk.”

(Archie, William knows, would — inferior in rank or no — toss that right back in Horatio’s face. _“Now where does she get that from, I wonder?”_ )

All Bush can do is smile, and stammer, “My apologies,” as he dresses hurriedly, for once without complaint submitting to Brown’s ministrations to the smartest uniform he has available to him, left laid out the last week for this very moment. He’d ordered that Brown not affix the new gold bars straight away, not until it was confirmed the hatchling was hale and hearty; Hornblower’s direct influence, the same anxiety he’d played out with Hypatia’s hatching.

Hornblower walks with him to the baths. It’s perhaps this that keeps Bush from running, matching his pace to Hornblower’s, and he’s grateful for the aid in maintaining dignity. 

The autumn night has a tinge of the unreal; Hornblower is in a convivial, loquacious mood, showing all the boyish excitement Bush is painstakingly tempering himself. Bush knows any excitement pertaining to joy of Hornblower’s own would be staunchly hidden, an instinct he’s watched Hornblower retreat into further as he’d climbed the ranks. It’s warming to see Hornblower — Horatio — so, a rare treat for a singular night. 

The clouds are rushing by overhead, the winds aloft not lessened in the strength that had buffeted their lively exercises that afternoon. The last of his aboard Hypatia, and he’s not sure when he shall fly next; the idea gives him something like vertigo, a feeling he hasn’t had since he was a runner. 

( _I expect_ , Archie’s letter jauntily addressed to them both had read, _William shall be as nervous as a blushing bridegroom come the day. I’d ask someone for a likeness, but I can imagine it will all be too exciting for such trifles._ )

They are not the first to the chamber; there is the covert clerk and the covert surgeon, Dr Sankey, with a couple of other interested parties, including Styles and Matthews, senior bellmen in Hypatia’s crew. The reason for their presence Bush can’t quite divine properly; unlikely to be angling for a new assignment, having earned their prime roles in Hypatia’s divisions through years of hard service under Hornblower, and none would pass up the Flag Dragon and her remarkable admiral for a captain as ordinary as William Bush. He guesses, absently and with the tiny part of his mind available, that they may simply be here to wish him cheer. 

Hornblower claps his shoulder, beginning a flurry of similar actions from fellow officers. The small gathering lends a hallowed, almost festive air, and Bush’s neck prickles with the attention. 

This uneasiness flees from his mind with the prompt, sharp crack down the centre of the egg, laid in state on the floor near the long bathing pool, drawing an excited gasp from the onlookers. Dr Sankey yields the floor with an exaggerated bow, withdrawing from where he had been taking final measurements.

Bush stands before the hatching with harness in one hand and an oversized raw steak in the other. He watches as a much studied-pattern in the shell parts suddenly, the egg fracturing comprehensively on top.

Laurence, in his cups at a dinner at Admiral Roland’s estate, had told lovingly of how Temeraire had energetically split the shell and flung the sides apart. Bush had watched himself as Hypatia had leapt from the remains as if impatient to begin life outside. He wonders if he should take a step back, anticipating a possible show of force from the hatchling. 

Instead, he sees small wings push up and through the fractured upper parts of the egg, and stretch as if from a long nap, trembling at the extremities. Parnassian wings for the most part; a creamy-white field, darkening to nightshade black at their trailing edges. He can see immediately that the markings are more complicated than the eggshell, swirls of spots in red and green, arranged in wild patterns that remind him of avian murmurations. 

The hatchling sits up, blinking. The light from the sconces shows pale pink eyes in a black-scaled head, pupils wide and searching.

“Hello, small one,” Bush finds himself saying. He has rehearsed this moment since he was a child himself, and never for a second imagined this level of informality, spurred by a sudden rush of tender feeling. He would have cursed Archie if he hadn’t missed him so, and if the rest of his focus hadn’t been on the new creature before him. 

The hatchling eyes the remaining walls of the egg, reaching more than halfway up its limbs, and Bush is compelled to ask, “May I?”

“That would be most handsome.” The hatchling replies, with a juvenile male timbre. Bush catches a little shy note; he makes sure his movements are as gentle as he can make them, threading the harness onto his forearm as Sankey obligingly takes the steak. It’s not a terribly easy feat, lifting a brand new heavy-weight without visible effort, but Bush has been raised in a hard school, a-dragonback since his seventh birthday. He wonders at the slight pressure of claws on his shoulders, the feeling of the dragonet’s slimy hide as he lifts it clear.

Bush sets the creature down, picking off particulates of shell before he withdraws his hands to reclaim the food from Sankey. The hatchling follows his progress, before meeting his eyes again. It says, questioningly,

“You are my captain, are you not?”

It is nearly three decades of discipline that keeps his voice steady over the hot bolt of joy. “Just so. My name is William Bush, and I am very pleased to meet you.”

The hatchling replies, “And you have a name for me?” Bush hears strengthening confidence.

“Since I was twelve years old.” He is a traditional man. “Perseus, if it pleases.”

“It does.” At the hatchling’s assent, Bush hears the sound of quill on paper; the clerk, keeping a log. “And that’s for me too?”

The hatchling stretches its neck towards the raw steak. Bush sees the shiver go through the scaly body, the tensing of muscles built for violence. He holds his ground, staying outwardly calm, even as the awareness of a hatchling’s inexorable hunger flashes foremost in his mind.

“It is, dear one, and have it you shall, as soon as this is secure.”

Bush moves the wet meat behind his leg, not hiding it, just foregrounding the harness. He’d supervised its construction himself, making sure the leather was supple and wouldn’t rub overly on new hide. 

Perseus nods. He gives the leather an inquisitive lick with a forked tongue, before stepping into the harness as if an old hand, keeping one eye on the steak; Bush catches Hornblower grinning, and then only belatedly realises he is so himself, ear to ear.

As he arranges and makes fast the straps, he notices short, almost vestigial-looking spines beginning at the rear of the hatchling’s head and tracing down the neck and back, more numerous and delicate than a purebred Parnassian. They are black in colour, and when Bush brushes cautious fingers over their length he’s reminded of a hedgehog he had once removed from Hypatia’s presence, after it had offended her curious tongue. 

“The harnessing, at my captain’s hand.” Perseus observes. “This is the beginning of our story, I suppose?”

The queer phrase brings Bush up a little bit, but he manages to hide his reaction. “I...yes, indeed.”

“My name is from a story — one of the ones you read to me!”

Bush blushes to the roots of his hair, and busies himself with buckles, comically small compared to the scale of even Hypatia’s middleweight rig. He spares a quick glance at Hornblower, whose eyebrows are high.

He had, is the truth of it. An ancient, very ill-used copy of the Greek Myths, from a kindly officer on Bush’s first appointment, keen on the culturalisation of the young runners. He had gifted it to Bush when he’d made midwingman, moving to a bigger, grander crew on Dreadnought, Captain Foster’s ferocious Chequered Nettle. Bush had read the familiar legends to the egg into the small hours, for reasons he couldn’t quite articulate, a compulsion from somewhere deep within. 

Hornblower says, “And I’m sure it will be a great one, Perseus, with such a captain. William, I believe you may have made a rod for your own back — have you learned nothing from my accursed beast?” Hornblower’s voice was suffused with affection, even in the invective. Bush knows what he’s referring to; Hypatia had demanded Wallis’ _A Treatise of Algebra_ almost from the shell herself. 

“A good many things, sir.” Bush replies, a trifle tartly. To the hatchling, he says, “Here, Perseus,” and hands off the meat.

Perseus devours the steak with curiously endearing savagery, and Bush feels a swell of pride at the display of appetite. He listens as Sankey chattily makes some initial observations that accord with Bush’s own; Perseus is broad in the shoulder, but longer in general conformation than a Parnassian purebred, likely to make tonnage deep into the heavy-weight category. 

“Well,” Hornblower says, over the sound of tearing meat. “I should be off to appease Hypatia, now that she has thoroughly lost you for another.”

“Please give her my warmest regards,” Bush says. “This little one will not remain so for long, and I would remind her of her kindly promise to allow us aboard for manoeuvres.”

Iskierka, Perseus’ progenitor, had from exigency hatched on campaign, and emerged thoroughly experienced for it, if rather dynamic in temperament. In the comforts of the Scottish covert, Bush knows he’s blessed with relative peace and control of the environment for Perseus’ early days. When he’d been assigned the egg, he’d implored Hypatia to carry them as soon as the dragon was willing. He plans that such early exposure to the kind of aerial mastery Hypatia’s Anglewing litheness and Horatio’s mathematical brain could achieve would be an annealing offset to otherwise gentle beginnings.

“I am most excited to fly,” Perseus says at this exchange. “And fight! I’m most relieved to have hatched with war still to come, Hypatia said it was a close-run thing. But...maybe sleep, and some more food.”

“A capital plan, Perseus. If you’ve finished here, there’s a more comfortable bed to be had elsewhere, I assure you.”

Perseus has eaten most of the steak, and Bush knows he’ll probably want to sleep very soon. Bush crouches to his knees, breeches be damned, to wipe some of the gore from Perseus small, soft jaws, and rinses his hands in the bathing pool. 

The dragonet gives a cavernous yawn. Bush is half expecting him to collapse there and then, and quickly makes an assessment as to whether he could carry the dragonet to his prepared clearing. 

Instead, Perseus’ eyes widen as if he had alighted upon an excellent idea. “Oh! We could have another reading from the book? I would like to hear about Perseus, and Andromeda, and Hercules. Or, an adventure from your own life — Hypatia has told me that you are a man of many stories yourself!”

“I…” Bush is momentarily lost for words. Accursed beast indeed, but very beloved.

“Goodness,” Hornblower laughs, a sound Bush hasn’t heard in years. “A warrior and a bard. I believe he may make a raconteur of you yet, William. Mr Styles, before I take my leave, you’ll do the honours?” 

“Righto, sir!” Styles draws breath, and bellows, “Three huzzahs for Captain Bush and Perseus!”

Hornblower has Bush’s new rank bars in his pocket. With Bush’s position on the floor, he has to bend to pin them on. It feels almost like being knighted, and Perseus looks elated, as the onlookers cheer fit to wake the covert.

**Author's Note:**

> With many thanks to my adored beta [Wobbly](https://wobblycompetencies.tumblr.com/), and cheerleading/Temeraire-picking from [Spatz](https://cactusspatz.tumblr.com/) and [Sassy](https://sassysnowperson.tumblr.com/). Am on [tumblr](https://dolly-bassett11.tumblr.com/).


End file.
